“Okay, I’ve got it.” I twist the chalk from her fingers and read aloud as I write. “Emma, Daisy, Al, Leanne: the adventure of a lifetime.”

Daisy steps forward and nudges me out of the way. She rubs out “the adventure of a lifetime” and replaces it with “best friends forever”.

“There.” She stands back and pulls the three of us into an awkward hug. “Perfect.”

Al rummages around in her backpack, pulls out two cans of lager and chucks one at me. We left the bar half an hour ago and we’re back at the guest house, ostensibly to sleep, but Al seems to have other ideas.

I catch the can of beer. “What’s this for?”

She settles back on her bed and kicks off her trainers. “Not being a dick.”

“What do you mean?”

“Tonight. It was like the Daisy and Leanne Show. Well, the Daisy Show, with a one-woman audience.”

“They were trying to cheer you up.” I pull the tab on my beer and take a swig. We drew lots to decide who’d share with whom in the guest house. Leanne wanted to share with Al, and for me and Daisy to share, but Daisy thought it would be fun to “mix things up a bit”, especially as we’ll have to share rooms at the retreat and in the jungle, too.

“I know, and I would have laughed if it wasn’t so sad.”

“Al!”

She smirks at me over the lip of her can. “Come on, Emma, admit it. I could see you cringing.”

“Well.” I shrug. “Maybe a bit. I felt like I should have held up a neon sign pointing to our table that said, ‘We Are Having FUN!’”

“Best friends forever!” Al bursts out laughing and the tension I’ve felt all evening finally dissipates.

There’s a knock at the door and we both freeze.

“Come in,” Al shouts.

The door swings open and Daisy’s blonde head peers around the doorway.

“Are you two bitches having fun without me?” She points at our beers with mock horror. “And you’re drinking the duty free!”

Al reaches into her backpack and chucks a beer at Daisy. “Join in, let’s be friends forever!”

She cackles with laughter and the sound fills the room.

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Present Day

“Jane? Have you got a minute?” I’m elbow deep in dried dog food when Sheila calls my name. She’s standing in the doorway of the supplies room with a woman I’ve never seen before. Unlike Sheila, who’s nearly six feet tall and all bosom and bum, the woman standing next to her is tiny. She’s barely five feet tall and her Green Fields’ standard issue navy polo shirt hangs flat from her shoulders, skimming her non-existent chest. Her grey trousers nearly cover the toes of her black trainers.